


Only you

by kuroitsubame



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angry Sex, Guts is an enabler, Jealousy, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, poor guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26629585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroitsubame/pseuds/kuroitsubame
Summary: When Guts is forced to attend yet another boring dance, he doesn't expect to see Griffith acting in a certain way.
Relationships: Griffith/Guts (Berserk)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 109





	Only you

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Griffguts too much to pretend this wasn't self-indulgent.
> 
> [Plus, here's a sketch by my talented gf on these two morons](https://twitter.com/LuckyAyase/status/1248973937691758594?s=20)
> 
> Disclaimer: English is not my native language, so forgive me for any mistakes and feel free to leave any feedback!

He had not wanted to go, that evening. He hated those balls, with all those uptight nobles, acting like they were almighty gods. He really hated it. On top of that, he had had a bad feeling about the event from the moment Griffith had told him about the whole thing. He had immediately said he did not want to go but Griffith had insisted that he needed to show up.

“Nonsense, Guts,” he had said, stopping him midsentence while he was complaining. “You know it is necessary in order to gain status in the kingdom.”

He had left no further room for any type of complaint whatsoever. So Guts had given up, it was no use arguing with Griffith on this stuff, in any case.

When the night of the ball came, he felt a bit nervous. He still had the sensation that something would go wrong. He ultimately believed he would soon get bored and annoyed at the nobles crowding the great halls of the castle like gobblers. He was only going to please Griffith, anyways. No way he would stop to talk to those good-for-nothings who couldn't even swing a sword properly.

He refused the proposition of help to get dressed from what looked like a fifteen-years-old blonde maid, closing the door in her face when she protested saying that “those were the Count's orders”. He got dressed (not without obstacles) and with a heavy heart placed his sword near his bed, next to the pillow, finally heading to the ball. He felt absolutely ridiculous with those clothes on. He thought they didn't suit him at all, all those bows and ribbons, and the embroidered fabric. It was too showy for him.

When he got there, as he had imagined, there were so many nobles the hall of the castle was completely packed. The castle was truly majestic. The count must have been an insanely rich man. The foyer was so grand and decorated it made him feel insignificant. There were statues everywhere - two huge lions stood at each side of the great door at the entrance of the castle. In the foyer there was an entire area full of marble statues of naked women bathing or playing a musical instrument or simply smiling timidly. Everywhere he looked there was gold. Huge golden chandeliers came down from all over the ceiling. The tapestry on the walls showed natural scenes, or hunting scenes, men on horses running everywhere in order to catch the prey in a clearing. There were also convivial scenes, young women and men drinking and eating on the grass of a meadow.

Still admiring his surroundings, he ventured forward and into the hall to look for Griffith - or at least anyone of the Hawks. The hall was as splendid as the previous area. Here too massive amounts of gold adorned a good portion of the room, heavy brocade curtains on the tall windows and huge decorations on the walls gave the place a sense of excessive opulence. On the far end of the room, the musicians where playing a lively tune, and many couples where dancing in the middle of the room, the big skirts of the women twirling around. He looked around, hoping to see a familiar face somewhere. Nonstop chattering surrounded him. He felt a tug coming from his sleeve and found Rickert and Judeau looking at him.

“Here you are, Guts!” Rickert grinned. His blue eyes were beaming with excitement, his bowl cut perfectly combed. He could pass for the son of some noble. “We were looking for you!”

“Yeah, man, where were you?” Judeau approached him.

“Hey, guys,” Guts waved, “I- I couldn't find the hall,” he lied. He didn't want to ruin the festive atmosphere.

“I see,” Judeau looked at him in a curious way, and was about to add something when Casca appeared, a scowl plastered on her face.

“Why do these nobles talk so much?” she whispered, “He asked me for the next two dances,” she continued, seemingly exasperated, but trying not to look bothered in public. She looked very annoyed and impatient to get away from the man.

“Are you gonna dance with him?” Rickert casted the man a sidelong glance trying not to be seen.

“Please, cover me so he doesn’t see me,” her eyes darted around to find a way out of that situation.

“Have you perhaps seen Griffith around?” asked Guts.

“Ah, yes!” Rickert started searching through the crowd, searching. “He was- ah, there he is!” he pointed towards the opposite side of the great hall.

Guts followed his finger with his eyes and found Griffith. He was talking to a man, but Guts didn’t pay him much attention, focusing only on his friend. He was wearing a long blue coat, very similar to the one Guts himself had on that night, but somehow, he thought it suited him a lot more. He looked royal, his fair hair tied in a low ponytail, his manners perfectly elegant. He was truly a sight to behold.

Guts was about to excuse himself from the Hawks to go meet Griffith, when he saw him smiling at the man, his lashes fluttering delicately as he looked up at him. Guts froze in place. He didn't understand what was going on, his mind confused. The unknown man, the one he had ignored at first, looked like a high noble, someone very rich. His jewels and clothing exuded wealth. Inspecting him further, he discovered that he was handsome. His face was squared and well-proportionate, framed by a perfectly trimmed mid-length black beard. His dark hair combed backwards gave him a tidy and respectable look, his eyebrows were bushy and his blue eyes radiated an intense stare. He couldn't have been more than thirty years old. He moved with flare and it was clear he was a refined educated man, too.

Guts shuddered subtly, his fists automatically clenching. He thought about who could he be, and what was Griffith doing with him, as his brain was frantically trying to decipher what we was looking at. The room around him completely disappeared, he could only see the two men on the back of the hall, eyes fixed on them - on Griffith in particular. They continued talking, and it seemed like Griffith was toying with the man, teasing him, as he looked extremely serious but a second later he was laughing, covering his mouth with his hand, almost in a feminine way.

Guts was dragged back into reality when he felt someone tugging at his coat multiple times, forcing him to look away from the scene. “Guts!” Judeau almost shouted in his ear, “Are you listening?” he looked almost concerned, his brows furrowed closely.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine,” he forced a smile, looking back at the Hawks. He hadn't realized Casca had gone, probably to dance with the old man. “There's too much noise, y'know?” he offered as an explanation. He felt his limbs almost numb, his mind too concentrated on something else to think of a more plausible one.

“Yeah, but it's so lively!” Rickert retorted, smiling.

“Well, I was saying,” Judeau pressed forward, probably resuming the conversation where he had left it earlier, “Isn't Casca stunning in that dress?” he smirked, pointing at the woman dancing with the old man.

Guts looked at her for a brief moment. “Yeah, she's nice,” he answered absentmindedly, his eyes darting on the back of the hall again to look at the two men.

Griffith was listening intently as the other man talked. They were closer than before, their sides almost touching. _Too close_ , Guts thought. He was vaguely aware that Judeau was still talking, but he couldn't bring himself to avert his attention from Griffith. He wanted to march to the other side of the hall and take him away, or shout at him, or hit the noble, his mind spiraling into a dark pit by the second. Then, suddenly, he saw Griffith smiling, his eyes almost sweet, as he placed a single hand on the chest of the man. He exhaled from the nose, a mixture of rage and hurt rising inside his chest. As though the blood had frozen in his veins, he felt cold shivers descending all over his body. He was clenching his fists so firmly that they started to tremble feebly, his knuckles gone white. He wanted to cry and lash out, to wreck that stupid place to pieces.

“Hey, are you alright, Guts?” Judeau shaked him by the forearm. “What's wrong with you?”

“Yeah, are you sick? You look pale,” Rickert tried to pull him down to inspect his face closely.

“I-” Guts couldn't stay there any longer. He felt he was going to explode, his anger and mortification almost overcoming him. He couldn't possibly let that happen, not in a place like that. “I think I'm gonna go get some fresh air, it's so hot in here,” he excused himself and went straight towards the exit of the hall.

He wanted to be as far as possible from that place. He needed to think, his mind now racing, going back and forth, replaying that singular action again and again for him. The way Griffith had touched the man's chest looked so intimate, as though they were _lovers_. As the word surfaced in his mind, rage boiled so harshly, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists again. That couldn't be, he thought, that was impossible. He decided to go back to his room, his thoughts consuming him.

He went back to his room and removed his coat and cravat, tossing them on the chair. He sat on the side of the bed and looked at his sword, still laying where he had left it. He wanted to swing it to take his mind off what had happened, but it was too cold outside, and he didn't want to risk catching a fever. So he just sat there, elbows on his knees, his mind still too agitated to do anything else.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard knocking at the door. The sudden noise almost startled him. He was about to reply when he heard a familiar voice he recognized as Griffith's. A single word:

“Guts?”

He didn't reply, uncertain on what to do. As the voice called him a second time, and the knocking became more insistent, he just stood up, walked across the room and flung the door open. His friend stood there, his eyes wide open and the moment he saw him he spoke hastily, his tone full of concern.

“Guts, are you alright? I could not find you anywhere and Judeau told me you had left early. Do you feel unwell?”

Guts stared at him for a few seconds. He noticed his chest was heaving, like he had been running. He averted his gaze.

“No, I'm perfectly fine, thanks,” he spoke with the most neutral tone he could muster and was about to shut the door in his face when his friend blocked it with a hand.

“What has gotten into you?” Griffith asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“I told you I'm okay,” Guts raised his voice.

“May I come in, then?” Griffith took a step forward. When he saw Guts uncertainty he pressed forward “Unless you want the maid who is wondering around here to eavesdrop on us,” he shrugged, his eyes still focused on the other man.

Guts emitted a low growl and stepped backwards, making room for Griffith to step in and close the door behind him. Guts went to his nightstand and retrieved the carafe the young maid had brought him that afternoon and poured himself a glass of water. An eerie silence fell between them. Guts could only hear his breath and felt somehow uncomfortable for the presence of the other man in his room. They had shared close proximity a lot of times, even intimacy, but this time was different, it made Guts shiver in rage. The few seconds of silence had already become a heavy weight on their shoulders. Griffith was the first one to break the silence.

“I'm not buying it,” he exhaled, his tone was almost casual. Guts put the glass down and turned around to face him again. Griffith was leaning against the frame of the canopy bed, his arms folded across his chest.

“What?”

“Your excuse,” Griffith explained. Guts didn't reply, letting the conversation drift again, frozen in place as his eyes wondered around the room avoiding Griffith's. His mind felt numb, he couldn't think about anything other than Griffith's hand on that man's chest, his sweet eyes smiling with the rest of his face, the way he had looked at him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop thinking about it.

“Are you-”

“I saw you with that man, at the ball,” he blurted. He watched Griffith's calm expression shift into a more tense one, pressing his lips into a thin line. He shifted his position against the bed, nervously.

“And?”

“And?!” Guts looked at him for the first time in a while. “Did you really had to touch him that way?”

Griffith raised his brows. A small chuckle escaping his throat. “What do you mean?” then he suddenly became serious, slightly narrowing his eyes “You know it's necessary-”

“Oh, how is that fucking necessary?!” he interrupted him. Guts wanted to say a lot of things. He wasn't stupid and knew exactly what he felt, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew he and Griffith, despite the moments of intimacy, were not allowed to feel such things for each other, he knew they weren't lovers and that Griffith could do whatever he wanted, theoretically. His heart sunk. He wanted to own him, only him, the way Griffith owned him and his body.

“Excuse me, are you implying I'm a whore?” he pointed at himself, staring at Guts with his icy eyes. He stepped towards him, “And what if I wanted to do it for my pleasure?” he added in defiance, his tone low and arrogant.

At these words, Guts mind snapped.

He leaped forward and pushed Griffith against the wall behind him. He slammed against it with a thud, his jaw falling open and his eyes goggling in surprise. Guts approached him and smashed his lips against his, placing his hands on the wall, at the sides of his head. He felt Griffith swallow a groan, shuddering as his hands fell on Guts waist, replying to the kiss vehemently, with his mouth open. Suddenly Guts broke the kiss, took hold of both of Griffith's hands and blocked them at his sides, while he dug his teeth in Griffith's neck, biting him hard.

“Guts,” he exhaled sharply, offering more of his neck.

“Is this what you wanted?” Guts growled in the shell of his ear, freeing his hands and grabbing him by the collar. He glared at him, observing his beautiful lips emitting fast puffs of air. Guts urged him forward and pushed him towards the bed. Griffith let out a startled noise, was knocked off balance and fell on the mattress, which creaked as soon as he landed. Guts kneeled on the bed between his parted legs and looked down on him. Griffith’s silver hair was sprawled on the bed, framing his face, a crimson red blush on his cheeks. His lidded eyes betrayed his arousal.

Guts put his hands on the other’s chest and with a sudden yank ripped open his shirt and undergarment, leaving his abdomen bare, the crimson egg Griffith carried everywhere now fully visible. He heard Griffith starting to protest, but immediately proceeded to cut him off, leaving a trail of bites on his chest, starting from the neck where he had left off moments before, to his nipple. His teeth sank in his pale skin, eliciting noises from him. Griffith put his hands on Guts’ hair, pulling it gently, as he squirmed and moaned.

“So, is this what you really wanted?” Guts asked.

“I don-” Griffith's answer was cut off by a loud moan as Guts’ hand fell down, under the waistband of the pants, caressing his low abdomed, then his pelvis, to his erection. Griffith head fell backwards, and he gripped more into his hair. Guts started slowly stroking him, while holding him by the face with the other hand, forcing him to look at him. Griffith pants growing greedier and greedier as he continued touching him. Guts licked, sucked and bit on his now reddened nipple while stroking him more and more firmly.

“Is this the pleasure you wanted from him?” Guts gruffed, his tone so low it was almost inaudible. as he grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed firmly to stop his orgasm, Griffith complained loudly, huffing a strained moan.

He resumed stroking him and, after a few seconds repeated the same action. Griffith's hips jerked forward, trying to receive stimulation.

“Guts,” he pleaded, his voice almost whiny.

“I'm not over yet,” Guts declared as he stood up, leaving him on the bed glaring at him from under a fan of lashes.

He went to retrieve the bottle of oil from his nightstand. He threw it on the bed, grabbed Griffith's legs and proceeded to undress him hastily, letting the clothes falling on the floor. Griffith kept his eyes fixed on him, his chest still heaving. He licked his bottom lip.

Guts wanted to know how he really felt. He wanted to be acknowledged, to be seen, only him. His anger making him take control, like he moved on its own. When Griffith was completely naked, he unlaced his pants letting his own erection free, then gripped at Griffith's hips and flipped him onto his stomach. Griffith gasped, taken aback. Guts propped himself on his knees onto the bed between his thighs, he gripped at his sides and pulled Griffith up towards himself. He took the oil bottle from the bed and uncorked it, then poured some on the hot palm of his hand and on his erection and pumped himself to spread it.

He crawled onto the man and bit the now bare nape of his neck. Griffith moaned, a low guttural sound escaping from his lips, back arching slightly. Guts proceeded to rake his nails down his back, following his spine, from his neck to the dimples on his lower back.

Griffith moved his hair to the side to watch the man on him, offering him a sultry look.

He inhaled sharply when Guts's finger slid inside him suddenly, his head shooting backwards, his features contorting into a wince. He started thrusting in and out unceremoniously, as Griffith writhed underneath him, him muscles clenching.

“Would you let him do this to you?” Guts’ voice was husky against Griffith ears, as he added a second finger. Griffith shuddered, his head falling as he clenched his fists, lips falling open.

“Would you let him touch you like this?” Guts pressed forward, grabbing his cock and stroking it with infuriating slowness.

“No,” Griffith exhaled between moans. “I- I wouldn't let him. Ah, fuck-” he sighed, as he was starting to lose himself in the haze of his touch.

“I didn't hear you,” Guts removed his fingers and grabbed his cock just as he had done moments before. Griffith emitted a low whine of frustration, the sudden lack of stimulation making him squirm impatiently, his shoulders heaving.

“Guts,” he sighed, almost as a plead.

“Would you like it?” Guts huffed, biting his earlobe, his fingers now grazing over his entrance, teasing him.

Griffith bit his lip, his hips thrusting slightly backwards to get some relief. Guts lifted himself onto his knees, grabbed Griffith's hair and pulled it as he rapidly positioned himself at his entrance and, without any warning, plunged into him.

“Fuck,” Guts could not help the low groan that escaped him. He had not noticed how aroused he was himself. Griffith moaned unrestrained, his head pulled backwards, his eyes completely shut. Guts thrusted again, pulling his hair even more, pushing him, making his ass slap forcefully against him. Griffith's hands fisted the sheets, his back arching to meet the forceful thrusts, his whole body tensing under Guts's touch.

“Would you like him to see you like this?” Guts continued to thrust into him relentlessly.

“N- no, only you.”

Hearing this Guts almost growled. He let go of Griffith's hair and shoved him down against the bed, making him whimper against the duvet as Guts began stroking him.

“Say it again,” he ordered, sliding his thumb over the head of his cock.

Griffith whimpered. “Only you can see me like this,” he wheezed.

Guts's head fell backwards, his eyes losing focus, his free hand grabbing Griffith's hip.

“Lord, yes,” Griffith chanted, meeting each thrust, as his mind began each second more dulled, lost in pleasure. “Guts, yes!” his head shot backwards as he came convulsing, hips bucking uncontrollably against Guts hand.

“Griffith,” Guts exhaled as he climaxed immediately after him, falling onto him, strength abandoning him. For a few seconds they could only hear their huffed breathes. At length, Guts rolled onto his back on the side of the bed. The moment he regained his composure, he turned to look at Griffith, who was still lying on his stomach, his arms sprawled lazily, his shoulders raising and falling steadily.

“Griffith, I'm so sorry,” Guts began, guilt crashing over him like a huge wave. “Shit,” he whispered, covering his face with his hands. He felt the mattress shifting under him.

“Are you kidding me?” he heard the smile in Griffith tone. He forced Guts to look at him, removing his hands from his eyes. He looked peaceful, his eyes gentle, filled with tenderness as he looked at him. He took Guts's face in both his hands.

“I did mean what I said, my friend,” he smiled. “You're the only one who can make me forget my dream,” and kissed him tersely on the lips and got up. Guts felt a little stunned as he watched him dressing himself up.

“So, can I stay in your room for tonight?” Griffith asked, putting his pants back on. “We don’t have to go back to the ball. I mean, I have no shirt anymore,” he chuckled, examining the piece of ripped fabric that was his shirt just moments before.

“And by the way, if that's what it takes to make you angry like that, I'll try my best from now on,” Griffith smirked, discarding the shirt and crawling back onto the bed.


End file.
